


Something indescribable (intangible)

by hiyodayo



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Connor has lots of feelings, Except it's more like friends with benefits to lovers, Friends to Lovers, Hopeful Ending, Jericho (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Mentioned only though, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, Worried Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 17:00:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15296025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiyodayo/pseuds/hiyodayo
Summary: Hank, who Connor loves but doesn't love him back. Hank, who sees him as family. Hank, who has given him feelings and a human heart and warmth and a home. Hank, who he's sure will be disgusted by him if he ever makes a move.It is not Hank he goes to when he finally can't take it anymore.It is Elijah Kamski.





	Something indescribable (intangible)

He knows the lieutenant doesn't feel that way about him.

“You're like my son, Connor,” the older man says, gruff warmth in his voice as he pats the android’s shoulder. “Who woulda thought that I would ever say that about an android?” He huffs a laugh.

And Connor knows this, so he smiles and bears it and lies to the best of his ability, because the last thing he wants to do is lose his current standing with Hank.

He doesn't know what he would do if he did.

He doesn't want to feel like this, like his program is constantly breaking into pieces, like his thirium pump _physically hurts_ to move.

Hank is kind to him. Treats him like family, takes him in after the revolution is over, gives him Cole's old room. Lets Connor walk and play with Sumo, because he knows the android is extremely attached to the dog.

Connor feels selfish every day for wanting more than what he is given. He feels selfish for wanting to sit closer when they watch TV together, he feels selfish for letting a smile slide into place when Hank's shoulders brush his. He feels selfish for looking at the lieutenant’s sleeping face and wanting to touch him.

“Is something wrong, Connor?” Hank will always ask grumpily, because he's kind and that's what he does.

“Of course not, Lieutenant,” Connor will reply with an easy smile, because that is what is expected of him.

It's at moments like these when Connor almost wishes he can go back to CyberLife. He wants these feelings erased. He wants to be reset.

But then he reminds himself of all the people around him. Markus, who relies on him more than he thinks. Josh, who always nudges his shoulder and gives him a small smile. North, who doesn't trust him at first but has slowly grown to become one of his closest friends. Simon, who is unfailingly kind and understanding at the worst of times. Sumo, who always barks at him with a loud _boof_ when he returns home.

Hank, who he loves but doesn't love him back. Hank, who sees him as family. Hank, who has given him feelings and a human heart and warmth and a home. Hank, who he's sure will be disgusted by him if he ever makes a move.

It is not Hank he goes to when he finally can't take it anymore.

It is Elijah Kamski.

A discussion and two cups of coffee and thirium later, and Kamski agrees to lessen his burden.

An operation and some upgrades later, he is pressed against the dark walls of Kamski’s spacious room, dark brown hair threading through long fingers as the former CEO kisses and bites his way down his neck.

“Is this really what you wanted, Connor?” Nimble hands languidly undo his buttons until Connor's shirt is entirely open. He shivers from the cool air, a new sensation for his new skin.

“I don't know,” he says before his breath hitches, and Kamski’s hand drifts from his chest to his hipbone.

They don't speak anymore beyond the sound of quiet gasps and raspy moans.

A glass of whiskey and an amused silence later, Connor is gathering his clothes and leaving.

“Feel free to come back when it suits you, Connor,” the creator offers. He lounges in his silk sheets, making no move to show him out.

Connor doesn't look back when he shuts the door.

Hank starts to get worried when Connor gets more withdrawn. Distant, almost. Impeccably polite, still, but nonetheless…

“You okay?” he always asks when Connor begins to drift in and out of the conversation.

“Yes, no need to worry, Hank,” Connor always answers. The look Hank shoots him makes him feel worse. He's gone and worried him, which is the last thing the android wants to do.

But if he doesn't keep his distance, Connor feels like he might do something he'll regret. Something that will irreparably damage the relationship and trust they so carefully built up.

And no matter what the cost, he refuses to risk that. Not for his own silly feelings.

And so he finds himself returning to Kamski, again and again. It releases his feelings, allows him to stop thinking for a few stolen moments.

They never talk much. It's something physical--they never come to a verbal arrangement, but there seems to be some kind of unspoken one anyways.

Connor is glad. He doesn't want to talk.

He never stays, either. Kamski’s face is an unreadable blank canvas, occasionally streaked with amusement or mockery, and it's not comforting at all.

But he isn't here for comfort.

Each time he locks his legs tightly around Kamski, each time his creator bites hard enough to draw blood, he feels a little better and a little emptier.

It's bittersweet at best, but it is also the only solution.

Kamski’s lips are smeared with glistening blue as they meet Connor's again in a bruising kiss, and Connor can't help but feel a little guilty for using him.

But when he brings it up one day while getting dressed, Kamski simply laughs it off and tells him that he does not mind.

“We're using each other, Connor. Make no mistake, I don't care who you think of when you're in bed with me.”

Connor nods reluctantly, straightens his tie into its proper position, and leaves.

He still feels guilty--like he should be doing something for the man. It’s not the same--for Hank, whom he loves unconditionally, he will do anything. For Kamski, it is an exchange of sorts.

And so, the next time, he surprises both himself and the elusive inventor when he stays. He knows from research that humans like some kind of contact after the act, but even as he lays in the soft bed, he feels doubt rising as to whether Kamski is one of them.

“This is new,” Kamski just comments languidly, eyebrow raised, his dark hair down and mussed.

Connor doesn’t reply to that, but they have (a very quiet and awkward) dinner together before he leaves, which he’ll count as an improvement.

“Where’ve you been?” Hank asks when he gets home, and Connor doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t _like_ lying to Hank--but it seems to become more and more common of an occurrence as he continues to hide his feelings.

He doesn’t know how to feel about it anymore, so he just mumbles something vague in response.

Hank is getting more worried about him, and Connor just feels worse, more _selfish_ , for actually appreciating the attention in whatever form he can get from the older man.

The android begins staying longer and longer with Kamski, seeking physical comfort in the man who asks for nothing but the same back. It becomes a weirdly comforting constant.

It’s easy, so...

He stays for dinner again.

And again, and again.

Kamski only brings it up after the fifth quiet meal they have together, to his credit. He’s given Connor one of his silky robes to wear, the black a stark contrast against the milky pale skin now littered with fading marks. “As much as I appreciate the company, Connor, I have to admit that I’m curious as to why you keep staying for dinner.”

Connor doesn’t tell him that it’s hard for him to return home, to look Hank in the eyes and lie through his teeth to the man, to work so hard at keeping his LED blinking a steady blue. Instead, he gives a little shrug and hopes Kamski will drop the subject.

Kamski doesn’t.

It’s expected.

“Trouble in paradise with Lieutenant Anderson?”

Connor stiffens, and Kamski smiles a self-satisfied smirk, smug in the knowledge that he is right as always.

They don’t speak again that night, but Kamski wordlessly motions for Connor to stay as he goes to pick up his discarded clothing from the bedroom.

An offer of comfort, perhaps, from the source he least expects it from.

Connor hesitates for a moment, refusal almost passing his lips, but then he thinks about a warm house with a friendly dog and a man whom he loves too much for his own good--

Can androids have broken hearts? Because, if so, his heart definitely breaks. It  _shatters._

And he stays.

He discovers that Kamski is tactile in sleep, a hand laid on his bare waist with uncharacteristic gentleness. Something changes, shifts, deep in him.

Connor isn’t sure how to feel about that either.

He isn’t sure about a lot of things nowadays.

He supposes that’s part of being human--navigating these mysteries.

As the days pass, Hank continues to get increasingly more concerned about how little Connor returns home. He never lets it affect their work at the DPD, but the fact remains that the distance in their makeshift family is growing. Connor doesn’t like the cautious but sad look the lieutenant gives him at times when he thinks he isn’t looking, and he hates himself for putting that look on his face in the first place.

He loves Hank, and he’s the one making Hank upset.

Connor finally admits this to Kamski one night as they lay in bed together, backs facing each other. The moonlight through the windows spill into the room, painting the darkness with pale streaks. There is a rustle as Kamski turns, his fingers tracing lazy patterns down Connor’s shoulder blade, the small of his back. “So I was right.”

Connor doesn’t want to admit it, because it makes it too real.

He can’t force the words out, so he gives a little nod.

Kamski’s fingers don’t stutter, continuing their random path down Connor’s skin as he speaks quietly, calmly. “You love him.”

“...Is that okay?” Connor asks, full of trepidation.

There is a soft huff of laughter behind him, full of amusement. “You don’t seem to think so.”

Connor is silent for a long moment. Kamski’s hand withdraws, and there is no more movement in the darkness for a while. But just as the RK800 thinks that the inventor has gone to sleep, the sleep-warmed baritone rings out again. “You should talk to him.”

Connor misses the touch a little. It grounds him. “He doesn’t feel the same.”

“Hmm.” Kamski gives a noncommittal hum, one of many. His tone is, as always, neutral and unreadable. “But you’ll never really know if you don’t ask.” Another silence, then he speaks up again. “Are you scared?”

Connor swallows. His LED is blinking red with his inner turmoil, and he knows Kamski can see it, but the man makes no comment. It’s the small mercies. “I don’t know.”

It’s a lie. He’s terrified.

Kamski simply gives another one of his considering hums. His breathing eventually evens out, indicating sleep. His hand finds its place on Connor's waist again. Connor lets out a shaky breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

It is the most vulnerable he has let himself be in a long time. He wonders absently why it is with Kamski that he allows himself a reprieve.

Because they expect nothing from each other?

No, that’s not quite it. It's part of it, to be sure, but it is no longer the only reason.

Connor pushes the sentiment from his mind.

They speak more after that visit. Dinner, always. Sometimes a walk around Kamski’s enormous lakeside of a backyard, now that the ice has thawed into peaceful rippling water. Kamski is surprisingly okay company, despite his tendency to spout roundabout philosophy and technicalities about the world around them. Connor keeps staying, reaching, wanting to keep his mind off the hurt resonating at the back of his mind.

Kamski doesn’t bring up the topic again, but Connor can feel him silently appraising him, watching. The man is, above all, an observer. Connor wishes he could ask him what he’s thinking.

Hank slips from his mind a little more, but the pain never fades. He no longer knows where his feelings lie after so long, he just knows it hurts to think about.

And in the evenings, as usual, Kamski takes Connor into his bed, and the android can feel his mind become blissfully clear of invasive thoughts.

They’re developing a routine. Sometimes, Connor thinks he can see Kamski’s gaze lingering on him longer than usual as they talk, but he doesn’t know why. Kamski knows he has noticed, but he says nothing.

If he’s waiting for Connor to ask, he doesn’t hint at it. And Connor, on his end, is reluctant at best to break the strange companionship they have established.

He does bring it up, however briefly, when he catches Kamski doing it once more--twice in the span of minutes. “Is there something wrong?”

The man in question doesn't bother looking away, unabashed. However, something flashes across his features--too fast for Connor to analyze. “Just something…that I can't describe.”

It's a very elusive answer, and very like its owner. Connor chalks it up to one of Kamski’s odd whims, but something doesn't quite feel right this time.

The moment passes. He doesn't bring it up anymore. They sink back into routine, but something has shifted again. 

It bothers Connor more than he'd like to admit.

Kamski whispers into his ear one night as he pushes Connor into soft pillows, voice thick like honey and rough with desire--but also something else this time, something buried deep in his tone that the android can’t quite decipher in his haze. “Is this still really what you want?”

Connor gasps as he feels Kamski bite at the lobe of his ear, tugging, the inventor's stubble scratching against the oversensitive skin on his jaw, his neck. His answer seems to come easy this time. “Y-yes--”

He doesn’t remember the expression on Kamski’s face after his answer. The rest of the night is, as usual, a satisfying blur.

Kamski is quiet the next morning. He looks like he's thinking about something, but he doesn't share his thoughts, and Connor doesn't want to overstep. He has less and less of an idea where their boundaries lie. It's funny, to think that they know each other so well intimately, but can say very little about where they stand emotionally.

Connor uneasily brushes it off as nothing.

What surprises him is that the next time he visits, Chloe stops him at the door, telling him Kamski is busy. And again, and _again_ \--over and over until Connor can no longer accept it as coincidence. But he keeps going--out of stubbornness, perhaps, rather than the physical need for release from before.

If he ever stopped to think about it, perhaps he might consider when his priorities started dividing. But he doesn’t--stubbornly refuses to, because it will change everything, and he is tired of asking questions that have no answers.

Eventually-- _finally_ \--one day, Kamski answers the door, only to tell him to go home.

Connor asks him why, gaze confused.

Cold blue eyes pin him in place, stopping his words in their tracks. “You should stop running.” The door shuts. Connor leaves after a moment of shock, the words sinking in.

Because that’s what he’s been doing, isn’t it?

Running.

He did that back in his days as a machine, too. Running from the truth, averting his eyes, refusing to accept anything other than the reality ingrained in him. And now, he’s doing it again.

There is no one to blame it on this time but himself. This one isn't CyberLife's fault, as much as he wishes it was.

Connor goes back home, emotions heavy.

Sumo greets him with a loud bark. Hank looks up from the couch, and stumbles up, surprised to see Connor home at night. It speaks volumes as to how often he’s gone nowadays, only to return at early hours in the morning in hopes of avoiding all interaction. He feels another stab of guilt.

“You’re home,” Hank says, looking at a loss for words.

“I am,” Connor agrees. The awkwardness stretches, and he realizes in that moment just how much damage has been done to their relationship.

He’s done running. Maybe it’s time to talk it out.

So they do.

Connor’s feelings pour out as they both take a seat on the frayed couch, and he keeps expecting to see disgust in the older man’s eyes--even angry shouting, maybe, telling him to leave and never come back. Instead, Hank listens with a patience that seems very unlike the usual him, and pulls him into a gruff hug at the end of it all.

Tears prick at Connor’s eyes, and he absently wonders when he became able to cry as he sinks into the warmth, wrapping his arms around Hank’s shoulders. It feels oddly final, and he thinks he’s okay with that.

After a long, companionable silence, Hank pulls back and says with some awkwardness that he can’t accept Connor’s feelings but that he appreciates them all the same.

And to both their surprise, Connor laughs--for the first time in weeks--and says he already knows. He’s known for a long time now, to be honest. He was afraid, but he isn’t anymore. Even if it’s still bittersweet, closure seems to bring some peace of mind. He thinks that he’ll be okay--that they’ll be okay. Hank’s grin in return is promising, and he gives Connor a firm squeeze on the shoulder.

Yes, with time, they will return to normal.

By the time they both settle in their respective rooms for bed, Connor feels a deep satisfaction he hasn’t felt in a long time. He rolls over, reaching on instinct--

Nothing. Cold sheets greet his hand.

Kamski’s face flashes in his mind. Weeks of walks by the water, quiet dinners, uncharacteristically gentle fingers tracing patterns down his back. Eyes trailing after him, a question he doesn't quite remember, then--a closed door, a cold gaze.

Connor swallows.

He doesn’t know what his feelings have become, but they suddenly aren’t so simple anymore.

It takes a few more weeks before he finally picks up the courage to call a taxi and stand in front of the imposing black structure he had begun to find comforting, in a sense. It’s been a long time, and it feels almost intimidating once more.

Connor doesn’t know if he should ring the bell. He doesn't know if he's quite ready to open _this_ can of worms, but--

He's tired of running.

The door opens this time. It's Kamski. He gives Connor a once over, and he must see something, because his icy expression eases into a small bemused smirk.

Connor didn't realize until this moment how much he really missed the expression. A little flutter rises in his chest.

Words seem to catch in his throat--all the things he wants to say. “Sir,” he greets instead, politely.

“Connor,” Kamski returns, eyebrow arched and voice teasing. He reaches forward, and catches their fingers together, just barely enough to brush against each other.

_Oh._

Connor still isn't sure what this is, what this means, what they are now.

But maybe--

_He sees Kamski’s lips curl up into something subtle and more genuine when Connor laces their fingers together properly._

\--this isn't so bad, whatever this is.

They have all the time in the world to figure it out.

“You're staring,” Kamski finally comments, unbothered. “Anything in particular you're thinking about?”

Connor smiles, his heart leaping as he steps forward.

Kamski doesn't move back. They're very close now, breaths mingling in the cool morning air.

He still doesn't know what to call this...thing...that they have between them, but...

Connor stops running and takes a leap of faith.

“Just…something that I can't describe.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a quick break from my multichapter Kamcon fic Hydrangeas to write this one shot LMAO  
> I hope you guys like it ^o^  
> A bit of a change from my usual but still the same rarepair hell LOL
> 
> I doubt it, but if anyone wants a little epilogue/sequel situation, let me know since the ending is pretty vague! As always, thanks for reading! All kudos and comments are much appreciated <3


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